


Born This Way

by Elayna



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Highlander Fusion, Crossover, Don't copy to another site, First Time, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Party Like It's 1999
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2020-03-13 05:45:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18934672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elayna/pseuds/Elayna
Summary: A retired rock star confronts an up and comer, who is not quite what he appears to be.





	Born This Way

Los Angeles – 2010

Los Angeles was even more crowded and frustrating than Quill remembered, the morning so-called "rush hour" traffic forcing his truck to inch along miles of crowded freeway to his destination. He grunted in relief when he finally broke free of the moving steel prison, escaping to a quiet last few miles before arriving at the private recording studio.

He slammed out of his truck, before deliberately making himself pause to admire the ocean view. Places like this made him understand why people stayed in this hellish megalopolis. The clean salty smell of the ocean, the sight of the waves and the sandy beach, the cries of birds wheeling in the sky… this was life at its finest and most eternal. The ocean gave him the same sense of peace as his home in the foothills, and the forest surrounding his property.

Squaring his shoulders, he turned away from the ocean and stalked up the pathway to the recording studio, a nondescript building undoubtedly loaded with expensive equipment. He had business today.

A security guard stepped in front of the door. Polite, with the standard black uniform and shiny patches, and definitely in Quill's way. "Can I help you, sir?"

"I'm here to see Bennie."

"Is he expecting you?"

"I doubt it, since we've never met and I didn't tell him I was coming." Quill spoke brusquely and perhaps unwisely. He knew he should be persuasive, diplomatic, but sometimes his innate honesty outweighed his good sense. 

"Then I'm afraid you'll have to leave."

"Do you know how many miles I've driven to see him?"

"You can contact him through his agent."

"I'm not going to be fobbed off with some middle man. I need to see him."

"I'm afraid you're going to have to leave, sir."

"And if I don't?" Quill straightened his posture, well aware that even though he was older than the stocky guard, he outclassed him in both height and physical prowess.

A voice behind Quill answered his question. "Then he's going to have to call the cops before you get your shotgun and start shooting."

Surprised, Quill whirled to see a young man on the walkway, carrying a cardboard tray of four large coffee cups. "What are you talking about?"

The young man glanced at Quinn's truck, where his shotgun was displayed in a rack. A small four-door hybrid was now parked next to it, presumably the young man's car. The new arrival was undeniably attractive, Quill noted, his longish hair having a reddish tint, his eyes a mysterious shade between blue and green, his trim body casually dressed in a Beatles t-shirt and worn jeans. 

"Oh for god's sake, I'm not going to kill anyone. I want to talk to the man, not pump bullets into him."

"It wouldn't be unknown for a large, angry man to become violent. It has happened." The young man's tone of voice was mild, as if he had little fear that Quill would actually carry out his suggestion, or extreme confidence in his own ability to react.

"Not me. I don't hurt people."

"Then why don't you come inside and let me know what you need?" The young man stepped around Quill. "Don't worry, Joe. I take full responsibility."

"Yes, sir." The guard stepped aside, holding the door open for them to enter.

Knowing that he looked calmer than he felt, Benjamin strode into the building, hearing Quill's breathing as he followed. William Quilling was here, twenty years older than the last picture Benjamin had seen of him, but as tall, broad, and strong-looking as he had been at the peak of his success.

Quill's hair was still brown, but silvered now, and long, almost to his shoulders with a piece on each side pulled back into a small, silver band. It was a good look for him, much better than his early 80s attempt at the long hair favored by hair bands. He had a beard and mustache now, and wore a plaid shirt, faded blue jeans, and brown boots, looking more like he was ready to cut down trees than make music.

Benjamin had always hoped he might meet Quill, but he'd never expected the buzz. That Quill was more special than he realized was an unexpected benefit. Benjamin's excitement threatened his external air of confidence. His heart rate was increasing, his pulse was pounding, and he hadn't felt this many butterflies in his stomach for longer than he could remember.

Taking a deep breath, he walked through the waiting room and pushed open the inner door into the studio with his shoulder. He released the breath slowly as he crossed the room and set the drinks on a side table. He was surprised how much he was affected by Quill's presence. 

Smiling deliberately, he turned to Quill and asked, "Would you like a mocha? Or a latte, cappuccino, or Americano? I've got one of each."

Quill hovered in the doorway, studying the state-of-the-art equipment. It had been two decades since he'd been in a studio, but he could still recognize when an obscene amount of money had been spent to get the newest and very best. "Aren't those for someone else?"

"They won't mind. Food gets switched around a lot when we're recording."

The choices in Los Angeles were certainly more expansive than those offered at Izzy's café, which proudly served strong coffee, fresh decaf, Lipton tea, and Sanka. "The mocha, please," Quill said, surrendering to his love for chocolate. His stomach rumbled, reminding him that hours had passed since that last stop at a restaurant on I-5 for a very early breakfast.

Benjamin suppressed a smile at the noise. "Are you hungry?"

"A little," Quill admitted. 

"Let me call Ani. He's always late. He can pick up some food on the way." Benjamin could guess why Quill was here, and expected a confrontation. Anything to delay and keep Quill around was good. Quill had been an incredibly private person since Xan had died and The Force had dissolved. Benjamin was well aware that Quill might already be antagonistic toward him, and that the news he had to give would be shocking.

"I don't want to be any bother."

"It's no trouble. Eggs Benedict? Belgian waffles? Crepes?"

"Scrambled eggs with bacon and wheat toast would be fine, thank you." Quill sipped his mocha and wandered around the studio, listening as the young man talked on his tiny cell phone. He'd first drunk a mocha in France, on what had turned out to be The Force's one European tour. That time of his life had been crazy, unexpected and overwhelming, before devolving into disaster, but whenever Quill looked back, he tried to appreciate the many amazing moments, like drinking liquid chocolate for the first time. He'd loved hot chocolate as a kid, but it was nothing compared to a mocha while sitting in a small cafe in Paris.

To Benjamin's frustration, Ani was not answering. He might, for the first time in his life, be being responsible and not answering a call while driving. Benjamin left a message with Quill's request.

"Your friend isn't answering?"

"No." Benjamin grimaced. "He's a good kid and a fabulous musician, but not always reliable. And extremely impetuous."

Looking at this young, gorgeous man, Quill had to laugh gently. "You talk like you're my age, discussing a high school student. What are you, 25?"

"Yes, yes, I'm 25. I was born in 1985."

The Force had already been a mega-success, and crashed by 1985, Quill retreating to his isolated home in the foothills, the best purchase he'd made with his royalties. "I do appreciate you trying to get me breakfast, but if I could talk to Bennie, I would be on my way and let you start your recording. When do you expect him?" Perhaps he was another late arriver. From the videos Quill had watched online, he looked like the kind of person who stayed up until the early morning doing drugs and slept until the next night. How did this polite young man cope with the drugged-out rock singer who had bought Quill's catalog? He must be the manager or the sound engineer.

"Yes, Bennie. I haven't actually introduced myself." Benjamin offered his hand, but was cut off by the door slamming open, Bruck and Bant sauntering in, arguing.

"No, you are wrong, wrong, wrong. Bennie, tell her she's wrong."

Benjamin winced. "Bruck, Bant. Good morning."

"Bennie?" Quill asked, taking a closer look at the young man. He sat his mocha down, and cupped the young man's chin with one hand, tilting his head, taking his glasses off with the other. "You look better without the bleached blond hair," he said drily.

"I had been about to introduce myself," Benjamin defended himself, though Quill didn't seem angry. Quill's hand was large, his fingers callused, and Benjamin repressed a shiver, suppressing the desire to know what they would feel like touching him all over his body.

"Who's the old dude who hasn't heard about personal space boundaries?" Bruck asked, as he sat down and got out his guitar.

"Bruck!" Bant's hiss was horrified. "That's William Quilling!"

"Really?" Bruck looked mildly intrigued. "You did some great songs. Bennie owns them now."

"Yes. That's why I'm here. Can we finally talk?" Quill was annoyed at himself that he hadn't recognized Benjamin. Glasses and a different hair style shouldn't have been that disguising, but the young man seemed so much calmer and more attractive than Quill would have expected. He had feared this conversation might go badly—drugged-out rock singers were not exactly known for their empathy or good business sense—but he'd had to give it a try. He had no idea how this very different version of 'Bennie' would react.

"If I could?" Benjamin held his hand out for his glasses and Quill returned them. "I hadn't meant to deceive you," he said, putting his glasses back on. "I was surprised that you didn't recognize me, and I tend to let a situation develop before reacting."

"How very cautious of you. That doesn't seem like your musician persona."

"Yes, well, as you note, it's a persona, and frankly, one that got unexpectedly popular. I would have planned better if I'd realized we'd go viral. I hate the feel of my hair bleached."

Quill took the opportunity to study the other two, clearly both members of The Apprentices. With the startling contrast of his spiky white hair and tanned skin, Bruck was the most recognizable of the four. Bant's mousy brown hair had been green in the videos, like her striking green eyes. Ani must be the one who'd most looked like a teenage heartthrob, longish curly hair and pouty lips. Would he have a buzz cut when he finally arrived? "Why did you buy my catalog?"

"I love music," Benjamin said simply. "I love your music. It became available and I didn't see any reason to resist."

"How did you even know it was available? I didn't."

"A fortunate conversation with a friend, that was all." As much as he could, Benjamin cultivated friendships and contacts, having learned long ago that information was gold.

"I think we should cover some of it. Majestic, at least." Bruck started playing The Force's biggest hit.

Sitting at the drums, Bant joined in. Benjamin picked up Ani's guitar, but Quill held out his hand. "You're the singer."

Without hesitation, Benjamin surrendered the guitar and stepped up to a microphone as Bruck and Bant repeated the first few beats, until Quill joined in with the lead guitar, and Benjamin started singing the lyrics. They played the entire song, a little rough, but much better than Quill would have predicted. He hadn't expected these young people to even know the song, much less by heart.

"I haven't played that song with anyone else in decades," he said, fingers still resting on the strings.

"But you do still regularly play," Benjamin said. "It's apparent you're in practice." Watching Quill's big hands pluck the guitar strings so nimbly and confidently—well, those hands could definitely become an obsession for him. Those hands would be good hands to wield a sword.

"Mostly I play acoustic. I occasionally perform at the local cafe." Usually off-season, when only locals were around. Quill enjoyed performing but had no desire to become a tourist attraction.

"Music is a part of your life. It's important to you."

"Yes. I love creating. It feels almost spiritual to me, the connection between lyrics and music."

Bant twirled a drumstick with her fingers. "Then how could you leave it?"

Quill realized that the three of them didn't know he hadn't left music, but hesitated to reveal his secret. He'd gotten accustomed to his privacy. "I don't need to perform to a stadium to have music be a part of my life."

"I want to perform to a stadium," Bant said. "I can't imagine anything more exciting. Thousands of people watching us, singing along." She gave a shiver of excitement.

"Then I hope you make your dream," Quill said, hoping that her dream didn't end as disastrously as his had. 

"We're making that dream a reality with the tour we're planning," Benjamin said, pulling out his cell phone as it rang. "Yes, Ani, what's the excuse this time?" To his surprise, it wasn't Ani on the line.

"I'm Officer Brannon with the LAPD. I'm sorry to report that we have an unconscious person at Temple Hospital. This is the number most often called on his cell. Could you identify yourself?"

"I'm Benjamin McLaren. This cell belongs to Anakin Walker. He's about 6'1", slim, dark hair. Does that describe your unconscious person?" He looked at the other three, who had fallen silent and were listening to his conversation.

"Yes, that's him. Are you an appropriate emergency contact? The hospital would like to talk to someone who could provide any medical background."

"Yes, that would be me, I'm as appropriate an emergency contact as anyone." Ani adored his mother, but Benjamin wasn't sure how to reach her, or if Ani had any other family. Her number must be in Ani's cell phone. Why was he unconscious? Benjamin wouldn't be surprised if he smoked a little weed, but didn't think he did any hard drugs or anything that would cause him to pass out. Hopefully it wasn't something as serious as an aneurysm or embolism.

"Let me pass you to a medical professional."

"Ani's unconscious?" Bant asked.

"Yes, that was the police, and they're transferring me to a medical professional. I think I should head to Temple Hospital. Someone should be there with Ani."

Quill held out his hand. "Give me your keys. I can drive while you while you talk on the phone. Your car will be better than my truck."

"This isn't—" your problem, your concern, Benjamin thought to say, but Quill was standing there, looking as steady as a rock, support and kindness in his blue eyes. How long had it been since someone wanted to be there for him? Benjamin handed over his keys, and the two headed out, Quill following the younger man. Benjamin dimly registered that Bant and Bruck were arguing over whether they should go too, as he talked on the phone. Yes, his friend was healthy, didn't smoke, no allergies that he'd ever mentioned, yes, alcohol but not excessive, possibly some weed. His mother's number should be in his cell, under Mom or Mrs. Walker presumably.

"I don't think I was very much help," Benjamin said when he finally hung up.

"It's astounding sometimes, how much we don't know about each other, even people that we feel close to." Quill hoped that Benjamin wasn't about to experience what he had, the death of a close friend from an overdose. The severity of Xan's addiction had blindsided Quill, and it sounded like Benjamin had no awareness that Ani might have a significant problem.

Not knowing each other was an understatement, Benjamin thought. "You're going the right way. I didn't realize you knew Los Angeles."

"I was here quite a lot when The Force was big. It's a major part of the music scene."

"Yes, of course. I should have thought of that."

"It's not like you should know my life story."

"I remember seeing that first concert, the first time your performed Majestic—you were fabulous."

"I've never thought the quality of that recording was very good. I'm surprised you were that impressed."

Benjamin took a few, slow breaths, recentering himself. Of course he hadn't seen that first concert live. He wouldn't have been born yet. It was 2010, and he had been born in 1985, making him 25. Repeat, remember. "I was young," he said, thinking quickly. "One of the older kids in the foster home had it."

"I was in foster care myself for a while," Quill shared. "I gather you were young enough to be easily impressed?"

"Young enough to be easily impressed," Benjamin said, hoping that it sounded like an admission. "But also old enough." He paused, waiting until Quill glanced over. "To be very impressed, if you know what I mean."

Quill gave a mocking smile. "I must be a disappointment to you now."

"No." Benjamin let himself look Quill up and down, blatantly and obviously, from his long silvered hair, to his comfortable clothes and booted feet. "You are not at all a disappointment."

"You're a surprise," Quill admitted, "I was expecting an incoherent druggie." He gave Benjamin a similarly assessing look. "But I'm definitely not disappointed."

~~~

Ani was conscious when they reached his hospital room. He was sitting up in bed, giving a description to a sketch artist. "Bennie!"

Benjamin hugged him, relieved that Ani seemed fine. "You're okay?"

"I got knocked out by some guy. Hey, show him the picture," he said to the sketch artist. "Do you remember him? I think he was at that free show we did recently."

The man in the sketch looked unremarkable, short, darkish hair, with a pleasant but not memorable face. "No, he doesn't ring any bells. Did he do something interesting?"

"He pushed through the crowd to get close to the stage. I remember checking that security was close, because it almost seemed like he might jump up on the stage. But then he just disappeared again."

Was he the one that Benjamin had felt at that free concert? He'd been focused on singing, and ignored the buzz. None of their kind would attack in such a public place. "And he attacked you today?"

"Mr. Walker chose to confront him," a woman said, coming into the room with a cup of coffee. "I'm Detective Brannon." She offered her hand and Benjamin shook it, introducing himself.

"And you are—?" The detective offered her hand to Quill.

"I'm William Quilling. I guess you might say I'm here as a friend." Like Bruck, Ani looked like he had in the band's performances online, overly long hair and pouty lips. Quill was relieved that his concern about a drug overdose was misplaced. He didn't even know Benjamin, but he was already intrigued by him and hoped that this young band of four would enjoy their success.

The detective blinked. "The William Quilling? Yes, Mr. Walker mentioned that he's a musician."

"So what happened?" Benjamin asked Ani.

"I saw this guy hanging around my apartment building, and I recognized him from the concert, but when I went to talk to him, he denied it and started walking away. I followed him, and grabbed his shoulder—" Ani mimicked reaching out. "He turned and told me that I wasn't the one, so I asked him what did that mean, was someone else in the band the one? And he said not to worry about it, but I said I definitely was going to worry about it if he was going to hurt one of my friends. He was a little guy, several inches shorter than me, I wasn't worried about confronting him. And then he twirled and kicked me in the head. I've never seen martial arts like that outside of a movie."

"Mr. Walker got knocked out when he fell and a nearby bystander called 911."

"You weren't the one?" Benjamin asked. "That's what he said?"

"Yes. I wasn't the one. He had an English accent, Cockney, I think."

"It does raise the concern that you or one of your other two bandmates might be his target," the detective said. "Well, presumably only you or the other gentleman. Do you have any security people?"

"No. Obviously, there is a security guard at the studio, but otherwise we're not yet at the level that we have regular professional security."

"It's an odd situation. Usually a stalker will focus on a particular celebrity. This one seems to be trying to figure out who he wants to harass. I'm assuming that he's going to leave the young woman alone, but that could be a bad assumption. You might want to consider hiring some security until we catch him."

This fellow was sloppy and annoying, Benjamin thought, but carefully kept his face concerned. He couldn't reveal that the person would be stalking him. And possibly Quill, if he got close enough to recognize an unborn. "I'll talk to Bruck about being careful. Bant too, just in case. And to our manager. Security should be a business expense."

"We'll get you copies of the sketch. You shouldn't hesitate to call 911 if you see him around."

"Yes, of course."

"Can I go now? We were going to start working on our album today," Ani said.

"We've got what we need, but that's up to the doctor." As if drawn by her words, a nurse hustled into the room.

"We should step outside," Quill said, obeying his own suggestion. The Force had had their share of admirers, who had occasionally gotten annoying, screaming hysterically and trying to sneak into their hotel rooms, but never stalkers who could be violent. He felt weirdly protective of Benjamin, even though the younger man exuded an air of confidence that made him seem much older.

Benjamin, the detective, and the sketch artist followed Quill into the hallway, the detective relaxing out of her professional duties to request an autograph from Quill, offering her notebook. "I loved your music when I was a teenager. Have you thought of performing again?"

"No, I'm just here for business," Quill said. "You should get his autograph too," he added, handing the detective's book over to Benjamin. "Consider it an investment, even if you don't know his music yet. You will."

The detective's dubious look didn't wound Benjamin. The woman must be in her 40s, the age to have swooned over Quill as a teenager, but not exactly The Apprentices' demographic. Quill's faith in his ability though—he found himself responding to this man in ways that no one had impacted him in years, feeling warmed and touched. 

"I can go," Ani announced, stepping out of the room, "but someone should watch me today. Which is perfect, as we should be recording."

"Yes, Ani." Benjamin gave him a mock salute.

~~~

Benjamin McLaren had loved music and fighting as long as he could recall. Born in a small village in the Scottish highlands, he'd known both from an early age. His affection for fighting had dimmed over the years, until it became primarily a necessity. He'd never even tried to keep track of the number of armies he'd joined and the wars he'd fought, but music… voices and instruments blending, speaking to people, making them dance or cry, that was his joy, his life.

Spending the day with his friends and Quill, practicing some of their new songs that they'd hoped would become successes, indulging in playing The Force's hits, riffing onto other popular songs… this was heaven. This was the reason Benjamin fought to stay alive.

They were taking a break, Bruck paying for food delivery as Quill and Benjamin settled into the waiting room at the front of the studio, Bant and Ani having temporarily disappeared. "This wasn't how you meant to spend today," Benjamin said. 

"I didn't have any plans, other than talking to you. I have enjoyed it more than I expected, making music with a group, being part of a band."

"Have you thought of returning to music?"

The detective also had asked if Quill was going to be performing. "Making a comeback? At my age?"

"The Stones are still touring. Age is hardly an impediment to making good music. The detective remembered you. You'd be embraced by the baby boomers."

"The Master's right," said Ani, hearing the last bit of the conversation as he entered and flung himself into an armchair. "The boomers would love you."

"The Master?" Quill gave Benjamin a curious look.

"That's a joke of Ani's. He thinks I act too old." Sometimes Benjamin wished he'd been a bit older when he'd first been killed. Regularly adjusting to how people expected young men to behave could get tiresome.

Bruck walked in, his arms full of sandwiches, and began distributing them. "You don't when you do that druggie thing you do. You're really good at acting stoned."

"I did assume that you had a drug problem, from the videos that I saw online."

"We still haven't settled on an overall look for the band, or what I'm going to be like. We were experimenting more than anything when the videos for our first songs went viral."

"Was it like that with The Force?" Ani asked. "Deciding on your branding?"

"We didn't call it branding back then," Quill said, the question making him feel old. Could he come back to music? Perform again, not just for his friends and neighbors, but screaming crowds? "But we were aware of what a rock band was expected to be like, and the need to both be that but yet somehow unique." Xan had been more into their appearance while Quill loved the songwriting most of all. He waved his sandwich at Benjamin. "Are you really thinking, be this, or be that drugged-out persona?"

Benjamin took a bite of his sandwich, considering how to respond, as Bant joined them, handing out sodas from the vending machine, and curling up on a couch with her own sandwich. "It is the reality now, the drive to be successful, and to think about how we present ourselves. I want to make music, music that lasts, and 'Bennie' and his band have been incredibly successful online. People expect to see more of the same, but that much being not me, if the band lasts several years, will be incredibly tedious."

"Oh, tedious." Bruck rolled his eyes. "Being famous."

"The band had better last several years. A couple of decades as far as I'm concerned," Ani insisted.

"Fame doesn't always last," Quill said, his voice soft with sadness. "If you achieve it, enjoy it." And don't do hard drugs, he thought about saying, but stopped himself. He'd sound more ridiculous than a 'this is your brain on drugs' ad to these young people. They didn't need his lectures.

Fame couldn't last, Benjamin thought, not for the decades Ani wanted. Not unless Benjamin started using makeup to disguise his lack of aging, or let people think he was discreetly having plastic surgery.

~~~

Leaving the studio in the evening, Quill suddenly had a bad feeling. He glanced over at Benjamin, somehow not surprised to see the other man tense. "What's wrong?"

"Well, this is an unexpected bonus." A man stepped forward, having been slumped against the building. He looked like Ani's sketch, and had an English accent, wearing the clothes Ani had mentioned, a tan shirt and blue jeans. He pointed at Benjamin. "You're the one."

"You!" Ani rushed forward, stepping in front of Benjamin. "You won't hurt him."

"And you—" He pointed at Quill. "You're the unexpected bonus."

"Me?" Quill asked, surprised and concerned. Physically, the man didn't seem dangerous, being only as tall as Benjamin, but he had an air of suppressed violence about him, as if he might explode into the high kick that Ani had mentioned.

"Look, I've already dialed 911." Benjamin held out his cell phone, showing that it was ringing. This man was an idiot, and testing Benjamin's patience. He knew the rules of the Game. A confrontation should never be started in front of this many witnesses. "I don't know what your problem is, but the police will be here soon."

The man gave a mock bow. "Another time." He pointed to Benjamin and then Quill. "Both of you."

~~~

Quill looked around the house. The furnishings weren't elaborate, but were definitely high quality. Clearly, Benjamin wasn't a man who needed to have lots of things, but did like them nice. And the view of the ocean out the big front windows— "Performing must be more lucrative than it was when I was a young man."

"What do you mean? I thought The Force did well."

"We did, but studio and agents' fees took a significant chunk. You've had one album go viral and you've bought a house on the beach in southern California and my catalog? I couldn't have done that when I was in your place."

"It is different now, with streaming royalties."

"Streaming royalties are a ripoff for the artists." Quill studied the painting over the fireplace, Benjamin in a Scottish kilt, done in an artistic style several hundred years old. He wondered if Benjamin had an artist friend who'd wanted to try that style, or if he'd deliberately found someone to paint him that way. Benjamin had mentioned being in a foster home, so it was unlikely to be an inherited painting of an ancestor. Foster kids rarely managed to keep possessions, and certainly not artwork of this significance and size.

"You know more about the music business than I would have expected from someone who has holed up in the mountains and been a hermit for the last two decades."

"The foothills," Quill corrected. "And I've never said that I've lost contact with the music world. That's your assumption."

"Are you still involved with music?"

"Did you really afford this house and my catalog on one album?"

Benjamin smiled, because Quill became more attractive and intriguing every moment that they were together. He wasn't combative, not in a senselessly argumentative way, but he was incredibly intelligent and a strong personality. He would need these qualities for the life he was about to enter. "Considering that the police thought we should stay together so that it would be easier to protect us from the crazy stalker dude, I don't know that tonight is really the best time for 'you show me yours, I'll show you mine' confessions, but we do need to talk. How about dinner first?"

Quill nodded. "Dinner would be good."

~~~

In normal circumstances, Benjamin wouldn't have called the police after confronting one of his own kind. Of course, in normal circumstances, one of their kind wouldn't have made a challenge in front of so many witnesses. Calling to report the incident to the detective had been unavoidable. That the detective had encouraged Benjamin and Quill to stay at one location that night where a black and white could drive by regularly had been a blessing.

Conversation flowed easily as they made dinner together. Benjamin let Quill grill the steaks as he tossed a salad and baked potatoes. They shared a bottle of red wine, eating outside on the patio, watching the sun fade slowly into the ocean.

"You didn't buy this house from one album, no matter how well it did," Quinn said finally, as both of them enjoyed dark chocolate truffles. Benjamin was a man who shared his tastes. He remembered Benjamin's open admiration of him in the car and wondered if their shared tastes extended to the bedroom. "Not unless you're absolutely mortgaged to the hilt, and then I don't know how you afforded my catalog."

"I inherited it," Benjamin said, which still wasn't the full truth, but he tried to sound convincing. He had lots of practice in being earnest over the years. "In circumstances that other people might find—questionable."

"From a—sugar daddy?" Quill asked, trying not to be too blunt. Did people even use that term these days? He could easily see Benjamin as some dirty old man's lover. Some rich businessman would have been delighted to have such an attractive young man by his side and in his bed.

From himself, but Benjamin hesitated to start on that explanation. If Quill didn't believe him, he could easily stalk out of the house and take off in his pickup truck, leaving himself vulnerable to attack from the irritating Cockney fellow. Mostly their kind left the unborn alone, feeling that the lack of a challenge was beneath them, but this fellow didn't seem to share that sensitivity. "He was an older man, yes. Not my lover, but it's not a situation I care to explain to most people. I prefer to let them believe that I bought it myself."

Quill wondered what the full truth was, but accepted that Benjamin didn't owe him complete disclosure of his life. "Do you know a songwriter named Quinn?"

"Yes, of course he's—fuck. You're Quinn?"

"I never lost contact with the music world, but I did change my relationship. I love creating, bringing truths about life to music. Performing was more Xan's love." He did sometimes miss the performing. Enthusiastic applause from his friends and neighbors was nice, but it was a mild pleasure compared to hearing thousands of people clapping and singing the chorus of a song he wrote. 

"William Quilling is Quinn." Benjamin shook his head in disbelief. "It seems so obvious now, but I would never have guessed it. That's why you don't appear to pick up your Grammys."

"I want my catalog back. I shouldn't have signed that contract, but I was young and stupid and my business manager was unethical. I want to own The Force's music again and control what happens to it. I'll pay what you paid and 10% extra. You'll make a nice profit for a few days' ownership."

"Done," Benjamin agreed easily, offering his hand. If all went as he hoped, what did it matter whether he or Quill owned The Force's music? They could be together for decades, possibly hundreds of years.

Startled, Quill accepted Benjamin's hand and shook it. "I didn't expect it to be that easy."

"You will find that I can be quite agreeable in some ways. Will you tell me another truth?" he asked.

"What do you want to know?"

"Were you and Xanatos lovers, as the rumors said?"

"Xan's been dead a long time," Quill said evasively. The loss had long since dimmed, but he'd never talked to anyone about Xan. "What does it matter?"

The sun was long gone, only the lights on in the house letting Benjamin see Quill's expression. "It matters in that a heterosexual man can usually be talked into letting me suck his cock, but a gay or bisexual man might be willing to—do much more."

So the lingering glances weren't a figment of Quill's imagination and did indeed mean what he'd hoped. Quill let the moment stretch out, before picking up his glass and swallowing the last of his wine. "I loved Xan, at a time when I wasn't allowed to, not openly. Supposedly it was okay to be a homosexual, but it wasn't really, especially not for rock stars. We had to pretend and encourage all those teenage girls to swoon over us."

"It must have been difficult."

"The music and the excitement of performing and being famous got us through. And for Xan, the drugs."

"You didn't do the drugs?"

"A little, but they never impacted me like Xan. Perhaps I have a high metabolism."

"So you do define yourself as gay."

"Yes." Quill gave a sudden, sharp breath, and released it slowly.

"It's not a problem any longer, you know." Benjamin watched Quill's face, the flashing expressions as he processed coming out to another person, possibly for the first time in his life. Many of their kind had done a similar thing, burying themselves somewhere isolated for a couple of decades, emerging to a different world, having to discover what attitudes had changed. Benjamin had done it himself a couple of times, but he'd always been old enough to know that he'd have to make that adjustment. Quill hadn't expected the world to become a better place, a place of acceptance.

"I understand that." Quill looked down at his hands, at the calluses on his fingers, both from the hard work he did maintaining the forest around his place, and from playing instruments. "It's still a problem where I live. The world might have changed, but not the people around me."

Small towns had always been the worst. Benjamin wondered why they had such a reputation for warm welcomes; small town people he'd known were always condemning and suspicious. "Then maybe it's time for you to leave that place."

Quill's mouth curled up on one side. "Are we back to that? Make a comeback? Delight the baby boomers?"

"If you like. I can help you. You've written some amazing songs over the years. You could write some for yourself. Or perform the ones you've already written? I presume this time you kept the rights to them. The others would love to be your backing band, if you wanted them to."

The thought was a bit overwhelming, but Benjamin had hit a critical point. Even when he'd never thought about performing again, Quill always kept the rights to his songs. He sold limited rights to other people, singers who performed them and made them famous, but he'd never again lost his music. "I hadn't really considered anything beyond getting my music back. I only packed one change of clothes. I just got in my truck and drove."

"Yes, I've been thinking. The detective advised us to get out of town, if we could. I was thinking a trip to your home might be useful."

"You want to go home with me?"

Benjamin shrugged nonchalantly. "For a couple of days. This fellow seems pretty careless. Hopefully, the police can track him down quickly. It's a long drive, isn't it? We can discuss possibilities." And then I can tell you what you are, and why this fellow is pestering us, without worrying you'll walk out on me. 

"You were going to start working on new songs."

"At the studio that the crazy guy has found?" Benjamin grimaced. "We were just planning on practicing this week. The engineer's not starting until next week. I think everyone will understand the delay. If I'm not too rude, inviting myself to your house."

"No," Quill said slowly. "It seems like a good plan."

~~~

Benjamin studied the house, made of wood that matched the trees growing around it. The structure blended into the forest. "This feels so comfortable, so peaceful. Almost like it's holy ground."

"That's an interesting observation. There was an Indian tribe in this area. I've found a few relics that have made me wonder if a burial ground is nearby. I've turned them over to the closest college but they've never got enough funding to do any excavating."

Quill was right; there was a burial ground nearby, slightly to the west, maybe a half-mile. The ambiance would be recognizable to their kind. If anyone had found him, they would have assumed his choice of location was deliberate, so that he could run to holy ground if attacked. That would be underestimating Quill though. Benjamin was sure that he would stand and fight.

"If they ever did, they'd have to rip up the area."

"Which would be unfortunate, but it would be fascinating, what they might learn. History intrigues me." Quill unlocked his front door, standing back to let Benjamin enter first, wondering what he would think of his home. He'd never thought much about how others might view it, decorating for his own taste and comfort, but he hoped that Benjamin found it pleasing.

Benjamin stepped into the house, carrying his own suitcase. It was much as he would have expected, masculine but comfortable, with a big fireplace at one end and a ceiling made of exposed wood beams. A grand piano and several guitars took a large part of the living area. Stairs on one side led to what appeared to be an upstairs loft. "You have a dog?" he asked, noting the large dog bed close to the fireplace screen. A dog, especially a well-trained, large dog, could be trouble.

"Had," Quill corrected, flipping through his mail. "I had to put him down last month. He had liver problems. People occasionally dump dogs in this area, as if they think a domestic pet can suddenly take care of itself by hunting possums. That's how I got Dirk."

"It's good you found him."

Quill dropped his mail on the coffee table. Everything could wait. The drive from Los Angeles had been long, but constantly intriguing. He loved talking to this young man, batting ideas about how Quill could make a comeback, the type of music he'd like to perform, straying occasionally to Benjamin and his friends, their thoughts on their future. Benjamin also had seemed endlessly interested in Quill's stories about his past, his success in the early 80s, and been willing to share the pros and cons of being a viral internet phenomenon. 

He loved being with this man, his intelligence, his polite manners that almost made him seem British, but at the moment, his attractiveness, those steady but unusual-colored eyes and his trim body, overruled all other considerations. "Right now, I'd really like to do something other than talk. I realize I've never quite played this game—"

"Quill." Benjamin pressed his hand over Quill's mouth, appreciating the tickle of his mustache and beard against his palm. "I absolutely want to go upstairs with you, but I feel that there are still things that I should tell you about myself."

Quill curled his hand around Benjamin's, pressing a kiss on his palm before pulling his hand away from his lips. "I realize this saying is before your time, but right now, less talk, more action seems good. If that's good with you?"

Quill's blue eyes were so beautiful, looking straight at Benjamin, wanting only to take him upstairs and make love to him, and it was probably incredibly stupid, but Benjamin turned his hand over, taking Quill's in a loose hold, and started walking toward the stairs. Quill followed.

Not surprisingly, Quill took the lead as soon as they reached the bedroom, taking Benjamin's face in his big hands, kissing him long and hard. Benjamin let him lead, returning the kiss with fervor, but also undoing the buttons on Quill's shirt as they kissed. By the time Quill released Benjamin's lips, his shirt was unbuttoned and open, Benjamin's hands busily exploring Quill's chest.

"You are perfection," Benjamin said, pushing the shirt off Quill's shoulders, pulling it out of his jeans.

That notion made Quill snort. He knew that he was decent-looking, that people usually admired his looks, but compared to this young, beautiful man, he felt too big, too old. "You are perfection," he said, grabbing hold of Benjamin's shirt, pulling it up and over his head.

Benjamin grinned. "Shall we agree we're both pretty amazing? And that unless you have some other preference, I'd really like to feel your cock in my ass." He cupped the front of Quill's faded blue jeans. "Because this feels exactly as large as I'd hoped."

"I think I could cope with that arrangement," Quill said dryly to mask his nervousness. He hadn't been completely without sex since Xan's death, but his experiences had been few and far between. He didn't want to hurt Benjamin in his awkwardness, but he trusted that Benjamin's confidence meant that he would speak up if needed. The younger man didn't seem hesitant.

They finished undressing each other, clothes falling carelessly to the floor, boots and shoes tossed away. Benjamin pulled the condom and lube out of his back pocket, dropping them next to the bed, making a small woof of surprise as Quill sprawled on his bed and yanked Benjamin down on top of him.

"Somehow I'm not surprised you have a California King," Benjamin said, propping his arms on top of Quill's chest.

"It was one of the annoying things about touring," Quill admitted. "Beds that were too short for me."

"That's never a problem for me." Benjamin rubbed his body against Quill's, appreciating the feel of his soft skin over hard muscles. Both of their dicks were erect. "So we have an agreement, your cock, my ass, do you have a preference for position?"

"Is this something that young people do these days, talk a lot about the mechanics?"

"It's something I do. You and Xan didn't—?"

"Xan and I barely admitted we were lovers. We certainly didn't talk about position." Quill ran his hands down Benjamin's back, grabbed hold of his butt, and flipped them over, immediately reaching down to the floor for the condom and lube. He coated one finger and easily found Benjamin's opening, inserting his finger and beginning to stretch it.

The sudden intrusion made Benjamin take a sudden, harsh breath, but it quickly felt good, and he rolled his hips, grinding down on Quill's fingers as he added more. "You're very good at something that you never talked about."

Quill's only answer was a firm kiss, his focus on preparing Benjamin. He hadn't done this in a long time, and he was determined to do it right. Benjamin had probably had other lovers, and likely more experienced ones, but Quill wanted to make this good for him. He waited until he had three fingers buried in Benjamin, and the younger man's body was writhing restlessly as he panted against Quill's throat. Only then did Quill remove his fingers and roll on the condom, coating it with more lube, and slowly push in. The delay had been worth it, because Benjamin's body accepted him without much resistance, Benjamin's arms tight around his back, his thighs squeezing Quill's hips.

"Lack of practice apparently makes you perfect," Benjamin moaned into his ear. "Fuck, you're big."

The reminder of his relative inexperience might have made Quill flinch, except the pressure on his dick felt too good, Benjamin's admiration of his size too sincere. He settled into long, slow thrusts, finding Benjamin's lips again with a deep kiss. Benjamin's orgasm came abruptly, his yell stifled by Quill's lips, but Quill felt the rush of come spurting on his belly, and immediately followed, surrendering to the heavenly feeling washing over his entire body.

Rolling off Benjamin, Quill rested beside him, staring up at the ceiling, wondering if he'd ever felt so good.

"You need to say something," Benjamin finally said. 

 

Quill took Benjamin's hand, kissing the palm again. "That was perfection."

~~~

Sleeping with Benjamin was surprisingly easy, the smaller man fitting perfectly in Quill's arms as they spooned together. Quill made them breakfast in the morning—eggs, bacon, and toast—surprised at how comfortable and relaxed he felt at having someone else in his house. Afterwards, they walked hand in hand through the forest on Quill's property. Quill delighted in pointing out the different types of trees and bushes, of beautiful flowers and lush ferns in the shade. He had spent so many years alone, with only the occasional companionship of good friends and neighbors, but now he enjoyed sharing with Benjamin. 

Benjamin smiled, brushing his arm against Quinn's, never wanting this to end, but accepting the inevitable. Last night had been amazing, but he needed to tell Quill the truth, to start training him. Quill moved well, and was physically strong, but it took time to reach the skill level that Quill needed to master. 

"Benjamin," Quill said, "you had something more that you wanted to tell me. About yourself. Is this a good time to talk?"

"I think a practical demonstration would be best." Ben smiled, nervous. He'd tried to prepare others for this moment, but it never worked. They never believed. Best to get it done and save the convincing for later. "Because it's not just about me, but about you too."

"About both of us?" What could possibly be about the both of them? They had nothing in common, besides a love of music and time spent in foster homes.

Slipping one hand in his pocket, Benjamin felt the knife, silver and sharp. "Trust me, Quill. Trust me that I would never do anything to harm you." With one fluid motion, he pulled the knife out of his pocket, slipping it between Quill's ribs, straight into his heart. He stepped sideways as he shoved hard, avoiding the splatter of blood hitting his body, unable to escape it staining his hand and shirtsleeve.

Quill's face was stunned, heart-breaking, mouth open in a soundless gasp, eyes unable to process the betrayal.

"It's okay," Benjamin said softly. "It had to happen, but it'll be fine."

Quill's knees sagged, and Benjamin helped him gently down to a kneeling posture, before the bigger man collapsed and rolled onto his back. Sitting on the ground next to him, Benjamin cradled Quill's head and shoulders in his lap, crooning reassurance.

"Oh God, why?" Quill mouthed the words, barely able to speak. 

"Don't worry, Quill. It'll be alright. Everything will be fine."

Quill reached out with one hand, touching Benjamin delicately on the cheek. "I loved you."

"And I love you. And I will continue to love you when you are reborn."

The light faded, beautiful blue eyes going blank and unfocused. Benjamin waited, making sure Quill was gone. The first death was always the hardest. The longest too, but Benjamin didn't waste time. He wanted everything to be cleaned up before Quill revived. Knife out of Quill's body to allow the wound to heal, the silver surface cleaned with leaves and restored to Benjamin's pocket, shovel and an old sheet quickly retrieved from the house, Quill's body rolled onto the sheet, dirt dug up and moved around to hide the blood and traces of an obvious homicide.

Quill was fucking heavy, Benjamin thought ruefully as he travoised the body back to the house, deciding to not take him upstairs to his bed in the loft. By the fireplace, he decided, on the plush rug, and undressed him, wiping off all the blood from the still body. He tucked a blanket around him, tossed the bloodstained clothes, including his shirt, into the washing machine, retrieved a clean shirt and the book he was reading, and waited.

It took several hours before Benjamin felt the rush, the electric spark that presaged the awakening of a new immortal. He tucked a bookmark into his book, set it on the coffee table, and rolled to face Quill.

Oh God, oh God, Quill screamed in his mind, gasping as air rushed into his lungs and he sat bolt upright. He's killing me. He grabbed for his chest, expecting to feel the heavy blade and the wetness of blood, but touched only skin.

"It's okay. You're fine now." Benjamin stroked his bare shoulder. "I know it was a shock, but you're fine now."

"You killed me."

"Yes," Benjamin answered quietly, not denying the truth.

Quill stared helplessly at Benjamin, seeing only calmness and reassurance in his expression, nothing to justify murder, even less to explain why he was alive.

"This is going to be hard for you to accept, but you're an Immortal."

"An Immortal?"

Benjamin smiled and nodded, not fazed by the disbelief in Quill's tone. "You were born that way, though it doesn't really kick in until your first death. I'm sorry for not consulting you about it, but you wouldn't have believed me, and frankly, you needed to die soon. You're in perfect physical shape now, and you need to stay that way to survive the Game, especially since you're already being hunted."

Quill didn't understand what was happening, but clearly something very strange and unnerving. He gathered the blanket around his naked body, starting to rise, but felt swamped by a sudden dizziness.

"Sit down," Benjamin said, holding on and helping him back down. "Your body has been through a shock. Here." He held a glass of blue liquid out to Quill.

"You killed me so I'd become Immortal and now you're offering me Gatorade?"

"Electrolytes are great. Much more restorative than whiskey. That's what I was given when I was reborn. Though would you like some coffee or tea? I can make some." 

Quill took the glass, sipping, watching Benjamin over the rim, searching for any signs that he was being…what the hell was it? 'Punk'ed' or something, but seeing only a young, caring man who appeared to have all his facilities intact. There wasn't any way that the sensation of the knife entering his body could have been faked. "Tell me more."

"I was afraid I'd have to let you shoot me to get you believe."

"Would you do that?"

Benjamin shrugged. "We can go out back and you can put a bullet in me if you'd like. I'll revive much quicker than you did. I'd like to take off my shirt first though. It's hard to mend a bullet hole."

"No, I don't think that'll be necessary. For now. Just… explain."

"As I said, we're Immortal. No one knows why we're Immortal, just that we are. We're born randomly throughout the world and throughout time. I've met Immortals born on almost every continent and during every era. We're always orphans, though sometimes we were raised by parents who hid that fact. We can recognize each other by a feeling we get when we're nearby, and an Immortal can always recognize a pre-Immortal. We call them the unborn."

"So you knew—"

"As soon as I saw you at the studio." He grinned. "I was excited enough to meet you, but to know that I could have centuries with you…that was a pretty amazing thought."

"Even if I hadn't been Immortal, you could have had decades with me," Quill said, not believing he was talking like this was real.

Benjamin frowned unhappily, because he hated discussing this part of being an Immortal, which was the major drawback to eternal life. "If you weren't Immortal and you'd accepted that I was, we could have had until your death as an old man. But most people can't handle growing old while their partner doesn't. And I can only risk 10 to 15 years in any one place. Then I have to move on before there are too many questions."

Quill considered growing older, Benjamin staying young… "People would eventually think you were my grandson."

"Or that you were a really filthy old man and I was a merciless gold digger. Even now people will condemn our apparent twenty-year age difference."

"You're older than me."

"By a couple of centuries. I did see you perform back in the 80s. I looked pretty much like I do now." He brushed his hand through his hair. "80s hair, of course. I wish I'd been close enough to the stage to realize you were an unborn. The buzz is muted."

"I can't – " Quill shook his head, realizing he was beginning to accept. "It's too bizarre." Gathering the blanket around him, he jerked his head toward a cabinet. "I'll take that whiskey, actually. On the rocks. I'm going to put some clothes on."

Benjamin poured them both doubles as Quill disappeared upstairs, returning fully dressed, even down to boots on his feet. "I thought about trying to tell you when we were at my house, but I was afraid that if you didn't believe me and left, that fellow might find you. Normally our kind leaves the unborn alone, but I don't think he would." 

Quill took the whiskey and dropped into an armchair, not the couch. He didn't need to be distracted by Benjamin being too close. "Talk," he ordered. "Everything."

Sitting on the couch, Benjamin cradled his whiskey in his hands and began talking.

~~~

"If you feel up to it, we should start your training." Benjamin held out the sword he'd brought for Quill. "It's a broadsword. It should be a good length for you."

These last few days had been crazy, but Benjamin resting a massive sword on his palms seemed especially surreal. Quill stroked a thumb along one edge. The sword was sharp and could likely take off a limb. But that was the point, right? To take off someone's head. To play the Game. He curled his hand around the grip. "I don't know if I could decapitate someone."

"It was different for me, of course. I grew up in a small Scottish village where it was expected that all the men would fight and kill if necessary. It was a part of life. But I've talked to others of our kind and I think you'll find that first challenge changes everything. Survival is a powerful motivator."

"Kill or be killed."

"It's the way of life for our kind. It's your life now."

"I didn't ask for this."

"Quill—if there were some way that I could protect you from this, I would. But this wasn't my choice, either. This is the way we were born. I can only give you the training to survive."

Quill laughed, a bitter, mocking sound. "And here I thought accepting my homosexuality was a major step forward. But now I have a different secret to hide."

"I'm sorry."

"I hid after Xan died, but I'm not going to have that choice this time, am I? Not unless I become a monk. I've been abstinent long enough." Quill strode to the back door and stepped outside. "Come on, let's do this where we have room to move." 

~~~

Quill had always been naturally athletic and strong. He found sword fighting easy and interesting to learn, though he could tell he would need months of practice to be a true challenge to Benjamin. Sometimes he still expected this entire experience to be revealed as a massive prank, but nothing in Benjamin's manner confirmed this belief. The other man—the hundreds of years older than him man—was an excellent mentor and trainer, patiently but diligently teaching Quill the best ways to fight. 

The nights were even better than the days, spending time with Benjamin in Quill's big bed. Benjamin was so responsive, so loving, so eager to explore anything that Quill wanted to try. 

The awareness came several mornings later, and exactly as Benjamin had described—a tingling sensation, almost like a noise. He felt it in his ears, in his brain, in his body, a feeling of danger, an instinctive urge to fight. "There's another Immortal," Quill said slowly, wanting Ben to disagree.

Benjamin already had his sword in his hand. How did he do that? He stood alert and wary by the fireplace, face hard and body poised for battle. Quill remembered the painting in his house, Benjamin in a kilt, a Scottish warrior to his core. "You need to leave. Take only your sword. Go to the church in town. If I don't come within an hour, head up to Seacouver. Don't stop for anything. Go to Joe's Bar and ask for Duncan MacLeod. Tell him you need a teacher."

"I can't leave you here!" The shattering noise of a door being kicked made Quill flinch.

That Cockney voice called through a gap in the door, "Honey! I'm home!"

"We fight one on one, I've told you that."

"Honey?" There were two more thuds, then a whacking noise as the door swung open and hit the wall. The man's voice was cheery and mocking. "You two made me track you down; let's get to business."

"The longer you wait, the longer I worry about you." Benjamin's voice was as cold as his face. Quill grabbed his sword but had to head toward the front door, where his truck keys were in a bowl.

The stalker from the recording studio was standing in the ruined doorway, once again dressed to blend into a crowd, a plain blue shirt and brown trousers. "You first? I hope he's made you at least a little bit of a challenge."

"No," Benjamin said, stepping in front of Quill. "You go through me."

Quill grabbed the truck keys, and fled out the back door as the stalker swung, his sword meeting Benjamin's.

"I'm Benjamin McLaren, of the Clan McLaren," Quill heard Benjamin say.

"You can call me Maul, if you like. But mostly you can call me your death," was the menacing answer.

After circling the house, Quill leaped into the truck, gunning the engine loud, hoping Benjamin would hear it and be reassured that he was leaving. He backed onto the street, and then killed the engine. Traffic was light on this road; he didn't need to worry about causing an accident, but he couldn't leave. He could watch the house and listen. If Benjamin won, Quill would be there to care for him. Immortals were weak after a Quickening, Benjamin had said. And if the other Immortal won, he'd stagger out of the house, and Quill could drive away safely, following Benjamin's instructions.

Please let Benjamin win, Quill prayed, rolling down the window. He could faintly hear the sharp noise of what might be blades clashing, but nothing more. Then Benjamin tumbled out of the ruined front door, springing to his feet, and Quill watched as the other man leaped out at him, his sword already swinging.

The two fought across the lawn, back and forth, both of them fast and agile. The physical display as their swords clashed and they leapt and twisted to avoid each other would have been staggering to watch, if Quill hadn't been so frightened for Benjamin. Quill clenched the steering wheel, knuckles tightening to whiteness. He hadn't considered that by staying he'd ended up with a ringside seat, where he might have to watch Benjamin's head be removed from his shoulders, see the lightning and explosions as Benjamin died.

The insidious thought came that if the worst happened, the other man would be unable to defend himself afterwards. He'd be limp and tired, drained from the power of Benjamin's Quickening. Quill could simply step out of the truck, walk to him, swing his sword and…

Could he do that? Could he cut down a man who couldn't defend himself? A man who'd killed Benjamin and taken his Quickening? If he did, then he would have a part of Benjamin forever.

The final blow came almost without Quill realizing it. A swing of a silver sword, a sharp cutting stroke, a head rolling off to the bushes, and a body collapsed to its knees, silver lightning exploding from the hole between its shoulders. The lightning arced toward Benjamin, embracing him. He yelled, arms outstretched, holding the sword toward the ground as if it might work as a lightning rod to protect him. Other tendrils of silver flame shot off in different directions, setting bushes on fire. The dual-pane windows on the house exploded, as did the truck's windows. Quill brought his hands up to deflect the slivers flying at him, then put them back down to keep watching.

Whether the Quickening had taken 30 seconds or 30 minutes, Quill couldn't have said. Ultimately, it ended, as abruptly and starkly as it had begun. The body collapsed completely to the dirt, and Benjamin sank to his knees. Quill shot out of the truck, wanting to go to Benjamin, but making himself head to the water hose, dousing the bushes.

Still on the ground, Benjamin propped himself on his elbows, grinning weakly at Quill. "He had quite a kick, that one."

"Are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine. Or I will be soon."

Quill felt himself shaking, the reality of his new life startling, consciously keeping his body steady as he finished soaking the bushes. A last silver spark shot toward the body, which began to burn. With a grimace of distaste, Quill picked up the head and dropped it on the corpse. He watched as it burned, leaving only a pile of ashes. He carefully rinsed the ashes before rolling the hose up again. Benjamin stood as Quill finished, but Quill held out a hand to help him up, then pulled him into an embrace, hugging him tightly, the shaking impossible to disguise any longer.

"Hey." Benjamin stroked his hands up and down Quill's back. "It's fine. I'm fine."

"I was so frightened for you."

"It's been a long time since anyone cared."

"I was attracted to you as soon as I saw you, but this—" He looked around at the debris, the broken door. "I could never have imagined this. I still hadn't quite accepted that you were saying the truth."

"It's a unique life. It has disadvantages, but advantages too." Benjamin rested his hands on Quill's hips. "Do you think you can cope with it? I have known our kind who lived on monastery grounds. I can arrange that if necessary."

"No." Quill hugged Benjamin tightly, resting his head on his shoulder before raising it again to stare down at him. "I buried myself after Xan died, and it's been a good life, but a quiet one. I can't keep hiding. People like Maul aren't going to let me, are they?" The thought of engaging in such a fight himself was unnerving, but he couldn't let Benjamin help him find a hidey hole and leave him. He'd accepted this new life when he'd let Benjamin start training him. When Xan had died, he'd been alone, but now he could have decades, maybe hundreds of years with Benjamin, and he wanted that life.

"As I said, monastery grounds are an option."

"No. I lost Xan, but I have you."

Quill's calm reassured Benjamin. The shaking hadn't been surprising. Most people were strongly affected by watching their first Quickening. "Yes, you have me for hundreds of years; that's my plan," Benjamin said. 

Hundreds of years together, maybe being famous, definitely making music, regularly sparring to keep in practice. Quill cupped the side of Ben's face, tilted his head back, and kissed him softly. "I'm going to hold you to that."

~ the end ~

**Author's Note:**

> Happy 20th Anniversary of Star Wars: The Phantom Menace! Happy 20th Anniversary of the movie that made me a slasher! I will always love my Qui and Obi. 
> 
> My thanks to Merry Amelie for the fast and efficient betaing.


End file.
